Racing to kick abuse in the butt!

I collapsed onto my side of the cold, uninviting bed. “Made it,” I thought. I’d already passed out once, trying to make my way from the bathroom into the bedroom, and almost didn’t make it the rest of the way to the bed. I’d spent most of the night in the bathroom, experiencing the long painful labor process. But I didn’t feel any of the normal euphoric feelings that come with welcoming a new baby into the world. Instead, I felt hollow, empty, and confused. This baby wasn’t going to make it.

When I passed out, my husband asked, “What was that?” As I regained consciousness, I told him I’d passed out. He grunted and rolled over. I tried to stifle my tears. We’d been out of work for a while, and he’d just barely started a new job. Unfortunately, I couldn’t hold back the mountain of emotion I was feeling. Quiet sobs racked my body over the loss of this, what would have been our second child (we also had a 15-month-old son). He asked me why I was crying. I told him I was scared (my aunt had almost died having a miscarriage), in pain, sad, and didn’t understand why this was happening. He said, “Well, if you don’t stop crying, I can’t sleep, and I have to be at work early.” Feeling guilty that I was keeping him awake, I tried harder to be quiet, but then I felt worse out of guilt, and cried harder. He huffed, grabbed his pillow and blanket, and headed downstairs to sleep. That was the longest night of my life.

Over the years, I learned to hide my tears better. Any time I got caught crying, he’d say things like, “Why are you crying? What’s wrong with you? Nothing good comes from feelings.” My favorite was, “If you had more faith, you wouldn’t get upset.” The day he moved out, my then-7-year-old son said, “Hey mom, now we can cry whenever we want to without having to worry about dad getting mad at us.” I cried a lot that day.

It took me four years and five relationships before I was able to cry in front of a man – and I was still afraid to do so. Remember when Lord Voldermort in Harry Potter was described as being not quite dead but not quite alive either? He was a ghost, a shadow of who he used to be – shriveled up from everything that had happened to him, and that he had done.

A victim of emotional abuse feels exactly like that inside. Every day. Their spirit is reduced to a shadow of what it once was. The light and life that once emanated from the depths of their heart slowly dwindles to a minimal flicker, barely alive, but not dead either. One-liners such as, “If I were only prettier, sexier, more patient with my husband and kids he’d be nicer to me”, “What’s wrong with me, why can’t I do anything right?”, and “I have to try harder to be a good wife” often cycle through their heads day after day. They originate from the abuser, but over time, the victim believes all of those negative things are true – and starts beating themselves up on a regular basis. The true way to tell if it really is abuse and not just someone who is oversensitive, is if the victim feels this way – like nothing more than a dung heap – day after day, year after year.

Verbal and emotional abuse follows the typical abuse cycle. Verbal abusers are often master manipulators. They often use projection – they accuse others of having weaknesses and issues they themselves have – and they blame the victim for causing them to act that way. I’ve heard many people say, “Why can’t the victim see what the abuser is doing? Can’t they see how obviously ridiculous the accusations and hurtful words are, and that they don’t describe this amazing person at all?”

The simple answer is, no. The abused believes all the crap, mostly because in their mind, they know they aren’t perfect and think the abuser’s words make sense, are logical, and are true. All of these thoughts get tangled in a swirling mass of words – “Am I really to blame for their actions? If I could only be smarter, funnier, keep the house cleaner, have larger breasts, be better at sex, they’d love me. But no one else says I’m this way, so am I really the one? Yes, I must be the one – because they (the abuser) should love me more than anyone else, they know me better than anyone else and they wouldn’t lie to me”. But the truth is – the hurtful words are nothing but lies.

While most verbal abuse stats are included with generic domestic violence reports, Shalva conducted internal research on their clients and found that of those surveyed, 86% reported being victims of verbal abuse. Consider it is estimated that one in four women will experience domestic violence in their lives, and most incidents don’t even get reported – that is a lot of pain. A lot of Lord Voldemorts walking around – unheard, unseen, and slowly dying inside.

I found the following quote: “When you finally realize you didn’t matter at all to someone, you begin to wonder if you matter to anyone.” I also liked the following: “When you stand alone the chances of withstanding challenges and overcoming are low. But when there’s unity, victory is certain and overcoming challenges is possible. Two heads are always better than one.”

Why am I pouring my heart out about the need to help these victims? Because I am one, and I know what it feels like, and I know how hard it is to get over. I’m still trying, and it’s been almost six years. This past weekend, when my kids came back from a long summer visit at their dad’s, my now-13-year-old and I got into a big argument. His stance, facial expressions, even his tone of voice and syntax were a mirror image of his dad. I reverted back to 10 years ago and started crumbling inside. All the intense feelings of inadequacy, rejection, and self-loathing came rushing back to me. On the outside, I tried to not react, to not let him bully me around like his dad used to. But the insults and insinuations cut deeply.

A couple of things hit me that night. 1. I honestly don’t know how I survived. I really don’t know why I’m still alive today. After eight years of feeling such a horrible, crippling deadness inside that I can’t really even put to words, I am amazed I didn’t commit suicide or mentally shut down completely. 2. I realized that maybe I am a lot stronger than I thought I was. But still, five days later, I’m struggling to regain a mental homeostasis. I’ve been falling back into old patterns of low self-esteem and feeling worthless and like a total failure at everything I do. Will this ever end?

So, my next running race isn’t just about me. It’s about all the women out there who walk around in a dark abyss day after day, wondering why God put them here on the earth when they are worthless – trying to not hope for anything better because they believe they’re not good enough for anything better.

I’m running in the St. George marathon this October to prove that you can overcome and move past the constant barrage of negative thoughts and feelings that cripple your soul. I’ll be running in support of The Dove Center, a place for solace, education, and support for women who are victims of domestic violence and rape. Please help me help these women find their old strong, confident, passionate selves. Beneath every abuse victim is a woman who is capable of amazing things – look at the strength they have to just endure the pain and emptiness they feel – every single day. They can do hard things… but like the quotes above, they need to know they matter, and they need that from all of us. It doesn’t just take an army to raise a child, it takes an army to help someone overcome years of verbal and emotional abuse.

My goal is to raise $500 for The Dove Center to help educate and heal women of abuse. If each of my 477 Facebook friends donated a dollar, I’d almost be there. The race is October 5^th, and I’d love to raise the money long before then. You can donate via Paypal on The Dove Center’s website. Just go here, click on “donate” next to my name, and help a woman say goodbye to a painful past – and hello to a future filled with strength, peace, and maybe even a marathon.

Thank you!